


The Unrightable Wrong

by Pfain Ryder (Cat_Moon)



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Dark, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 21:24:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19364347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_Moon/pseuds/Pfain%20Ryder
Summary: Sam finally leaps home, but it's not the happy homecoming he envisioned.  More like a Greek Tragedy.  Funny thing about curses, they hit when you least expect it.





	1. The Unrightable

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the fanzine, “Leaps From Hell.” 1994.
> 
> Old story from the early 1990s. Originally, "The Unrightable Wrong" was a standalone, and "Among the Ruins" was a sequel I wrote a couple of years later. For this archive I've decided to combine them (since I already have tons of 'series' coming, maybe I don't need yet another one). This story is much darker than my usual fare. I didn't like the episode Trilogy. It left me feeling uneasy. Yuck. So I decided to make it more yucky. It's not happy, Sam's not happy, Al's not happy... But I just can't resist a bit of hope in all my stories. You've been warned. If you need more warnings, they'll be at the end of chapter two so as not to spoil those who don't want to know.

**For Sam - what meddling in time can do...**

 

There was a full moon out. I stood there, wrapped in the comforting arms of my desert, gazing up at the sky. The night air was a little chilly on my bare arms, but I didn't mind. Actually, there shouldn't have been anything I minded at that point.

 I was home. Had been for two weeks. Of course, I still felt kind of like the proverbial mushroom -- I'd spent most of that time in the Project infirmary, and no one would tell me anything.

 As happy as I was to be home, I felt a vague sense of discontent. It might have been from the holes in my memory that were filling in too slowly for me, but I didn't think so. Everything felt... weird.

 Like Al. Oh, he was thrilled enough to see me -- I didn't think he was ever going to let go of me. But once he did, I sensed a distance between us, and I had no idea why it was there. I'd tried talking to him about it, but he kept insisting nothing was wrong.

 I was home, and he'd changed. Wasn't the same Al who'd always been there during my Leaps.

 The only thing I could figure was that it had something to do with his girlfriend. I hadn't seen her yet; it was one of the few items I'd picked up from listening to conversations among the staff. Tina was living with Gooshie in this timeline -- though I didn't know what I'd done to cause that -- and Al seemed serious about a woman he'd been seeing all the while. Her name was Syna, and she was a member of the staff. That's about all I knew, except for overhearing comments about her being 'a bit young for Al'. I didn't recognize her name, but I was still Swiss-cheesed on some things, and everyone was refusing to tell me anything I didn't remember on my own, by order of Verbena Beeks. I didn't see why it was necessary any longer; I was home. But even Al seemed determined to follow Verbena's advice to the letter.

 I felt so out of place in my own Project, like an outsider. When they wouldn't help supplement my memory, it made the feeling worse. Okay, so I was a little jealous, too... Syna took up a lot of Al's time, and I wasn't used to that. Maybe if he'd been around more, I wouldn't have felt so alienated.

 I shook myself out of the melancholy mood I'd slipped into, and started back to the Project. Tomorrow was a big day – I was finally being allowed to go home, to my own house. Maybe then I'd feel like I was really home.

 

QLQLQL

 

The event had come to pass, and things still weren't the way I'd envisioned them. First off, it was Gooshie and Tina who'd dropped me at the house; Al was off somewhere with Syna. I wondered if she was going to actually become marriage number six. Al had apologized and promised to stop by later, for dinner. If I didn't know better (did I?) I would have thought he was trying to avoid me.

 I was confused and lonely. I hadn't confronted Al about things, so I guess it was my own fault for keeping silent. I just would have felt... funny, starting a scene about his spending time with a girlfriend. And a part of me felt guilty -- after all, if he was as happy as he seemed, he deserved it. I should have been wishing him well, not wishing they'd have a fight so he'd come over early.

 Not feeling... angry.

 I spent my first hour in the house just staring, wandering around the rooms, touching things. As I experienced everything, memories started filling in again. Al was in a lot of them; barbecues in the back yard, watching old movies with popcorn and beer. As well as making me feel good, it augmented my loneliness, to know there'd been no one special in my life. I'd kind of hoped Donna would be there, after the Leap where I reunited her with her father. But then it would have been cruel to leave someone waiting all those years I was trapped leaping. It was better this way.

 After I was satisfied that I'd investigated every inch of the living room, I moved on to the bedroom. I paused in the doorway, experiencing something that was almost like fear. Why I should be afraid of my own bedroom, I didn't know...unless it had something to do with the countless strangers' bedrooms I'd had to call my own over the years. This one was all mine.

 Oddly, this time no memories were tapped. My mind was a blank. Hoping investigation would help, I pulled open the first drawer of my dresser. To my surprise, it was empty. Everything was supposed to be ready for me; surely they hadn't packed everything up...

 A check of the rest uncovered something strange. Exactly half of them were empty, the others filled with my clothes. Almost as if.. as if someone _had_ been living with me. But who? And why couldn't I remember? ...unless I didn't want to... I vowed to corner the elusive Al as soon as he walked in the door, and get some fast answers.

 I sat down on the bed and pulled open the drawer of the end table. It, too, was empty. Impatiently, I moved to the table on the other side. This one was filled with clutter that I quickly identified as mine. There was the tiny atom key-chain Tom gave me when I got my first degree, various spare change, a pack of Big Red, which I remembered as my favorite flavor of gum...

 And a ring. I lifted it out of the drawer and stared at it. It looked like a wedding ring. And I knew it, knew it well. It was...

 It was _my_ wedding ring.

 As the memories finally came rushing back to me, I felt numb with shock. How could Al have kept this from me? How could he have... how could he have the nerve to keep this a secret now that I was home -- while cheating on me right in front of me, with some bimbo from the staff?!

 When had he moved out of our house? Was it because he no longer wanted to be married to me? My thoughts on the unfairness of leaving someone waiting came back, causing a twinge of guilt. I guessed he was pretty pissed at me for Leaping too soon, but he also knew I had to do it. He'd known all along what the Project meant to me. He'd even joked that this was his karma, for putting Beth third. Now, someone had put him second. But he'd always understood. I'd counted on that understanding, never thinking it would be withdrawn.

 With a jolt, I realized that it was now me who'd come home to an empty house. I was facing _my_ karma...

 

QLQLQL

 

I was pretty drunk by the time Al showed up, but I didn't particularly care. It numbed the pain, and would make the confrontation infinitely easier.

 He knew something was wrong the moment he walked into the house. I guess the almost-empty whiskey bottle must have tipped him off.

 "Hey, Sam," he began, carefully casual. "What's going on?"

 "Did you have a nice time with Syna?" I asked, in a sweetly pleasant voice.

 "As a matter of fact, I..." He cut off abruptly, his gaze dropping to my left hand, and the ring. He took a deep, unsteady breath. "You remembered."

 It wasn't a question, so I didn't answer it. "You didn't answer _my_ question, Al. Did you have a nice time with Syna?"

 "Sam, let's sit down and talk."

 "We don't have to talk," I told him. "I just want to know one thing. Do you want a divorce?"

 A flicker of pain crossed his features. "Sam, things are... kinda complicated..."

 "What's complicated? You either want her or me. Easy." Apart of me knew it was my fault; another refused to accept the blame. I didn't know whether to be angry with him or myself. The pain had fed on itself in the past hours, until it was all I knew.

 "I don't think now's the time to discuss this, sweetie, not when you're in this condition."

  _Sweetie_. It had been my favorite of his endearments. "Do you call _her_ sweetie, too?" I asked cuttingly.

 "Sam, please!" Al took a step closer to me.

 I backed up, swayed and almost fell. "I don't know you anymore. Who are you?"

 "Sometimes I don't even know the answer to that one. Listen, you need to sleep this off. Be reasonable -- we can have a long talk in the morning."

 I had to admit, he had a point. I could barely remain standing. It cut into my wounded pride when Al helped me into the bedroom and got me tucked into bed.

 "We'll talk in the morning. I promise," he said softly, and turned to leave.

 I grabbed his arm. "Al -- please, tell me one thing. Do you still love me?"

 He gazed at me for a moment. "I'll always love you," he whispered, but there was only sadness in his voice. "Sleep tight, Sam." He left, and I was alone.

 In _our_ bed...

 

  **AL :**

 

After Sam was asleep, I left the house and its painful memories. I couldn't bear to look at that face, so familiar in sleep, and remember how it once was, when he was mine.

 I meant to go home -- I really did. However, I wasn't all that surprised to find myself pulling up in front of the small hacienda Syna rented outside Alamogordo.

 I knew Sam was hurting; knew the feeling very well, as a matter of fact. But somehow, she could always make me feel better just with her presence. Like Sam used to.

 I'd been irresistibly drawn to Syna from the moment we first met. The attraction proved mutual, and we formed a close bond. That bond eventually deepened into romance. I was lonely, trying to deal with having the man I loved lost in time. I didn't have Tina to lean on, since I'd been married to Sam in this timeline. Syna had filled up that aching hole inside me. Now, I was in too deep. I couldn't walk away.

 I rang the bell. Syna opened the door, smiling when she saw me. Her smile could always make the most dismal day seem sunny. She was the most special woman I'd ever met. Not surprisingly, I found myself automatically smiling back.

 Syna led me inside. "Is everything okay?" she asked, pulling me close for a hug.

 "Not really." Honesty with her was easy... to a point. I guess it was the things I _hadn't_ told her that made me so open with everything else.

 "Wanna talk about it?"

 "No."

 Syna gave me a gentle kiss, took my hand, and led me into the living room. She gestured to the small bar in the corner. "A little something for your sanity, perhaps?"

 As usual, I had to smile at the familiar line from our favorite movie. It had become a catch phrase for us. She even captured the exact inflection Gary Morp used in the movie.

 It struck me how comfortable we were with each other, as I sat down without a word and she went to make me my usual. It was a good relationship. I'd given up feeling guilty over it a long time ago -- it wasn't my fault. I'd decided to let go of the past and start over.

 The only trouble was... I still loved Sam.

 "Did you see him?" Syna asked, handing me the drink as she sat down on the couch next to me, folding her long legs under her.

 I nodded. She knew all about my marriage to Sam. What she didn't know was that I was deceiving them both. If --when? -- Sam remembered, he'd hate me for it. If he didn't remember and I didn't tell him, I'd hate myself. Syna might even end up despising me. Once again, I'd have no one. I gulped my drink, desperately wondering how I'd gotten myself into this mess so insidiously.

 Syna waited, so patiently, wearing that half-smile. I could smell her perfume, mingling with the smell of the whiskey. She smelled like the sun.

 Suddenly, I didn't want to talk -- or think -- anymore. I pulled her close, burying my face in her soft hair. "All I feel when I think of him is pain. There's too much between us."

 Her hand began rubbing my back, soothingly. "But you still love him."

 I didn't know whether she was asking me or telling me. I looked up into her beautiful brown eyes. "I love you. And when I think of you, I feel..." I stared into her eyes a moment longer, until our lips touched. Then I closed my eyes, and stopped thinking.

  

** SAM _:_ **

 

Whenever I drank too much the night before, I had a tendency to wake up obscenely early in the morning. It was barely dawn when I found myself struggling out of bed and searching for painkillers. Luckily, I found some ibuprofen with a month to go before its expiration date, tucked into the back of the medicine cabinet. I swallowed two pills and stumbled into the living room, thinking perhaps Al had bunked on the couch. No such luck. I was alone in the house.

 Despite what Al said about still loving me, something was very wrong. It twisted my stomach into knots of anxiety, and augmented the pounding in my head. There was something I didn't know, something... nasty. Like when it seems the worst has happened, but you know there's more... Part of me shied away from finding out; the other part had to know.

 I was restless. Instead of waiting for Al to decide to show his cowardly face, I went to the Project. It was early yet; there was only a handful of people around. Al wasn't there either, but I'd known he wouldn't be. Only an emergency would have gotten him up and moving at this hour of the morning. And obviously, the imminent destruction of his marriage wasn't considered an emergency.

 It occurred to me that his marriage had been over for a long time.

 After several cups of strong coffee and a glazed donut, I felt more human. I sat at my desk, staring at the phone. I desperately wanted to call Al, hear his voice, but I was afraid to. Afraid I'd get no answer at his place. Which would mean he was... with her.

 What would I do if he really chose her? It was something I didn't think I could face. We'd built a life together, pledged ourselves to each other -- how could he turn his back on that?

  _Who_ could actually make him consider it?

 The question nagged at me until I had to find out. Al himself had always told me the first rule of battle was to know your enemy. It didn't hurt to be forewarned.

 Or so I thought.

 I asked Ziggy for information on Syna. The first thing I found out was that it was she who'd come up with the working retrieval program. Ironic that it was my rival to whom I owed my homecoming. I called up her employee file, and had to admit she was a striking woman. Beautiful, with long black hair and laughing eyes. Something about her face was familiar. Something which filled me with dread...

 I needed to know more. She'd changed her name, I discovered, but within seconds I had her birth name. I was right; I _had_ seen her before. But she'd been young then. Very young.

 I just made it to the toilet in time, before everything came up in a wave. I felt betrayed beyond my wildest nightmare. The world was coming to an end, and I was puking up glazed donuts and rotgut.

 I don't know how long I spent hugging the toilet. Even after I'd finished tossing the entire contents of my stomach, I couldn't move. I was frozen on the floor, and never wanted to move from that spot.

 My relative peace was ended when a familiar voice intruded. "Hey, Sam -- you in here?"

 In that moment, I wanted to kill him. I was terrifyingly aware that if I'd had a weapon, I might have.

 Somehow, I climbed to my feet and wobbled out into the office. Al stood there by the desk, looking normal – damn him. Just like nothing was wrong.

 "If I had a gun right now, I'd blow your head off, you filthy bastard!" I informed him in a growl.

 Al's eyes widened in surprise. Then he sighed. "I thought we were going to discuss this like rational people?"

 "That was before I ran a check on Syna."

 All the blood drained from his face. It gave me a slight satisfaction to see him reach out a shaky hand and grip the desk for support. "I -- I can explain..." he began, in a trembling voice.

 "I don't think so," I told him. "Do you really think you can explain not only cheating on me, but cheating on me with Sammy Jo -- and not even telling me she was my daughter?! Can you really explain that, Al?!"

 For a moment, Al looked like he was going to pass out. Then, something in his eyes hardened. "Fine, if that's how you want it. I'll give it to you -- straight out. I got tired of watching you screw your way through time. I almost lost you for good, probably would have, if you'd been Leaping much longer. I used to have nightmares that you really did it -- fell in love and stayed in a Leap with the woman." He pointed a finger at me, momentum building. "I'm no Donna Alisi!" I gawked at him in shocked comprehension, as he continued. "Waiting faithfully all those years until you finally wiped her out of existence."

 "She... _was_ my wife..."

 "In another timeline, Romeo. And lucky me, I got you after that. Okay. I got tired of waiting. I wanted something for myself."

 "But... Sammy Jo..."

 "That's why I needed to talk to you first. I can't just drop her now. I can't do anything to hurt her. I love Syna, Sam."

 I couldn't remain standing on my feet any longer. I backed into the couch and fell onto it. Too much to digest for such a short period of time. "You're sick," I told him succinctly.

 "I knew that the day I fell in love with you," he cut into me. "I didn't plan to get involved with Syna, and I didn't know she was your daughter when I did. But I know none of that changes the mess we're in."

 " _We're_ in?" I yelled. "You're the one who..."

 Al cut me off. "And _you're_ the one who went after Abigail like a dog in heat, not even considering the consequences of your actions. Because of your selfish behavior, that little girl grew up without a father – you deserted her. I didn't, and I won't. I'm here for her, Sam."

 Suddenly, there was at least one thing I saw crystal clear. "You figure she isn't the only one I deserted. You didn't think I was ever coming back..."

 Al looked down at the ground, with a touch of shame. "No, I didn't."

 "You... gave up on me. Just like Beth gave up on you!" I said accusingly. Last night's realization of karmic justice disappeared in a haze of pain and anger. "And you think you deserved better than you got?!" I jumped up again.

 Fire blazed in Al's eyes. "I was there for you, goddammit! Every second of every stinking day! I gave up my life for you, Sam Beckett -- and you have the nerve to expect me to do it again!"

 "What about Sammy Jo?" I countered.

 "The only thing that matters now is Sammy Jo," Al said, with finality. "I've given her what I used to give you."

 My headache was back, to the tenth power.

 "There's more," he informed me -- as if I cared, at that point. His expression was a strange blend of reluctance and anger. "Even without Syna, I don't know if I could... if there could be a future for us."

 "Why?" I whispered, trying very hard not to cry. My homecoming was supposed to be a joyous occasion, not this nightmare. "You told me you'd always love me," I whined,then cursed myself for opening my mouth.

 "That'll always be true," Al answered, as if he wished it otherwise. "But I can't trust you anymore."

 "What are you talking about?" I shouted.

 "You're too -- dammit, Sam -- every time I turned around, you were falling in love with someone! Can you even imagine how it feels to watch the man you love -- that you married -- in the arms of another, telling her they belong to each other?! Having a child with her? Are you even hearing what I'm saying, or are you too busy wallowing in your selfish despair?!"

 "But I..."

 "You used to tell me you belonged to me," he said, in a low voice.

 "I didn't know!" I insisted. "You could have told me!"

 "It wouldn't have made any difference." Before I could argue, he went on. "Or you would have tried to be faithful, ended up failing in a Leap and stuck there. I would have lost you anyway. I did what I had to do. I couldn't compete with what they could offer you, Sam. This was wrong, never should have happened. An aberration of time. We were never meant to be..."

 " _No_!" I screamed. I couldn't let Al say those words. Not that.

 Al shook his head. "Find a woman, Sam. And don't hurt Syna."

 "She's my daughter!" I said, wiping angrily at my tears.

 "Leave it be, Sam. It's better that way."

 "Better for who?" I asked accusingly.

 "Her!" Al growled impatiently. "For once in your miserable life, do the right thing by someone."

 "Go to hell, Al," I said levelly, and walked out of the room.

  

**AL:**

 

I wanted a stiff drink, but I was afraid if I did, I'd never stop. I fully intended to go home, yet like all good intentions, it wasn't enough to keep me from heading to Syna's office. Like Sam with Abigail, I couldn't stay away. I'd tried to break it off when I found out she was Sam's daughter -- but I couldn't turn off my feelings for her. She filled up all those places Sam had left vacant when he Leaped, and more. And she was a part of Sam.

 Syna looked up from her work as I walked in. "What is it, Al? You look terrible." She stood up and came around the desk.

 "Sam's gone."

 "What do you mean, gone?"

 "Disappeared. He left the Project, and no one knows where he is."

 She moved forward, placing a hand on my arm. "Maybe we should... I hate coming between you."

 "Don't." I took her shoulders. "We've been through this. You know how I feel about that. It's not your fault; it would have happened anyway."

 "He needs you..." Her eyes took on a distant look.

 My feelings hardened. "Yeah, well, Sam Beckett is going to have to learn sometime that he can't have everything he wants."

 "You don't mean that."

 I slumped, the anger Sam raised drained away by her caring presence. "Maybe not. But I'm so tired of hurting, Syna."

 She led me over to the couch, and sat down close to me. "I know, Al."

 Now, with hindsight, I recalled the night Sammy Jo was conceived. My birthday, his time, and Sam was busy screwing around with yet another woman. I was angry, jealous and depressed. I fled to Syna's office. I guess I'd mentioned the date of the Leap to her in passing -- and when I walked in, she was waiting for me, holding out a cupcake with a candle in it.

  _Hey, Sam -- while you were conceiving your daughter, I was screwing her on the couch in her office. Small world, isn't it?_

 I let myself be pulled into an embrace. "You're the only person I've ever loved that didn't hurt," I whispered.

 Syna's hand on my cheek was a gentle caress as she leaned closer to kiss me. I melted into her.

 

QLQLQL

  

The days wore on, with no sign of Sam. A part of me tried to be blase, tell myself I wasn't his keeper, that it wasn't my problem -- but the other part felt guilty and worried. I tried to hide it from Syna, but she saw right through me, of course. Just like Sam always had. She took it as a sign that I was still in love with him. Well, it was true. The problem was, I didn't think I could put the past behind me and start over with Sam. Especially with Syna as a consideration.

 They were so much alike sometimes. Maybe that was why I'd been drawn to her -- but it didn't matter now. My feelings didn't matter anymore. I might have fucked up my life royally, Sam might have fucked up -- but I was determined that Syna would not be affected any more than she had been already.

 Little did I know it was already too late.

  

  **SAM** :

 

I had to get away, had a lot to think over. I didn't care if they were trying to find me or not. All that mattered was getting as far away from them all -- from Al -- as I could.

 The details of where I went and what I did aren't important, only the result which came from it. I hitched rides, stayed in cheap dives, and did a lot of staring out over the barren desert. That's the way I felt: barren, like something inside me had shriveled and died.

 It took me a week to come out of my shock and decide I was tired of feeling sorry for myself. I could go back and try to salvage my relationships, except I had no idea how – or even if -- I wanted to save my marriage. The pain was still too raw.

 And I knew what Al had felt.

 I stopped hating him. Turnabout, fair play. I figured we'd both mangled each other -- we were even. There was still a lot of talking to do, whatever came of it.

 The only thing I was certain of was that I wanted my daughter. We both had a right to know each other, and it wasn't Al's place to interfere.

 I'd given her life. She was of my flesh.

 She might be all I had left.

 

end part one

 

 

 


	2. Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse. Like really, really bad.

In retrospect, the most colossal mistakes of our lives usually start out seeming harmless enough. I needed to clear the air with Al, give him fair warning of my intentions to be a part of Sammy Jo's life. Or maybe somehow I still hoped a simple band-aid could repair the damage done between us.

Unfortunately, I was the deciding factor -- even though I didn't have a hell of a lot of say in the matter. If Al decided to leave me for her, I could either accept it – or not. Somehow, I thought maybe if I talked to him, we might be able to... I don't know what I thought. But I didn't know if I could bear to live without Al.

I waited in his office, nervously tapping my foot on the floor. After a time that was both intolerably long and not long enough, he walked in -- and froze, as he saw me. For just an instant, I might have seen relief on his face; then it hardened into an unreadable mask.

"Hello, Al."

"Sam." I winced inside at the wooden sound of our voices, as he went over to his desk and sat down. "Now what?"

"We need to talk."

"I know." He sighed. "You have to believe -- I didn't know she was your daughter when I became involved with her, Sam."

Since he'd chosen to get right into the heart of things, I did the same. "Does that matter now? You still have to decide who you want; that's your decision. I've made mine. I want to have a relationship with my daughter."

"Sam..." He had that warning tone in his voice -- the one I knew from those years of Leaping. "You can't tell Syna you're her father."

The sight of him -- and the way he was ignoring the issue of our marriage -- unexpectedly turned all my resolve right back into anger again. "Why, because you're afraid she'll hate you for keeping it from her?" He flinched, and I knew I was on target. "It certainly couldn't be because of some stupid rules you tried to lead me by the nose with while I was Leaping."

"They were _your_ rules, buddy-boy! The same rules you fed _me_ when you had the chance to keep Beth away from Dirk. Then you had the gall to turn around and beak them for your own selfish reasons -- over and over!"

Was resentment and pain all that was left of our love? The thought tore me up, and I lashed out with everything I'd been keeping inside since I'd come home. "How do you think I felt, Al? How would you like to be lost in time, always pretending to be somebody else? Having nothing for yourself?! Year after year, being invisible – not existing! Being wanted -- but it wasn't you they wanted, wasn't you they fell in love with, it was somebody else! When someone knew me -- Sam -- wanted me, I was so damned grateful it was pathetic. Excuse me for making the mistake of being human!"

"And whose fault was it you ended up in that situation?! You screwed up everybody's lives -- not just your own. Now you want some special sympathy? You want a fucking medal?" Al yelled.

"I could use some understanding!"

"Then try giving some. I won't have you hurting Syna, just because you can only think of yourself!"

"Who the hell do you think you are? You walked out on me for her -- how dare you try to tell me how to handle my own child!" I shouted. "You can't stop me from telling her, Al. And you won't convince me that I'd be hurting her."

"Isn't it enough that she's cursed?"

I stared at him. "What are you talking about? That was over with, years ago."

Al shook his head, and I finally noticed how upset he was. His voice shook, and his eyes held an edge of desperation. "It was _wrong_. She was never meant to exist. Can't you see? You can't tell her!"

" _I already knew_."

The quiet voice sliced into the heat of anger like the smooth detonation of a nuclear bomb. We both turned as one to see the subject of our discussion standing in the doorway.

"You knew?" Al croaked.

"I've ruined everything by being here," Sammy Jo whispered.

"Sammy -- Syna -- don't listen to Al," I begged, horrified at what she'd overheard. Memories of the traumatized Abigail haunted my mind. "It's not true!"

It was too late; she turned and ran out.

All I could do was glare at Al, even though something inside me twisted at the expression on his face. "You forgot," I told him unmercifully, "we're both guilty. And as ye reap, so shall ye sow," I intoned, then walked out of the office without a backward glance.

 

QLQLQL

 

There was a feeling I used to get while I was Leaping, of _knowing_ the next few hours were critical, without knowing why.

I had to talk to Sammy Jo. If I didn't, I'd lose a husband _and_ a daughter. What she'd overheard -- I had to tell her it wasn't true, make her understand that she had a right to exist. That I loved her, and wanted to make up for all those years she'd spent without a father. But as I drove to her place, I couldn't help feeling like things were rapidly spiraling out of my control.

Had they ever been _in_ my control?

I pulled into the driveway behind her car, noting the lights on inside. She hadn't answered her phone, but as I'd suspected, she was at home. I rang the bell several times, got no response; finally, I tried the doorknob, and it turned easily.

The minute I walked in, I got a sick feeling in my gut. I called to her; silence answered.

I found her in the living room.

All my eyes saw was red, everywhere. As terror and bile rose in my throat, I forced myself forward -- she was lying on the floor, a large kitchen knife still clutched in her hand. My mind faded out of focus, like a camera without a lens. At first, all I could think was how tightly she must have been holding onto the knife, to still have it in a death grip. And how I'd been sickened and disbelieving when I'd heard that Abigail's mother killed her children and herself by slitting her own throat.

Reality reached me as the smell of blood reminded me who and where I was. Grief of a kind I'd never felt before descended on me. "Oh, God, no..." I whimpered, as my knees gave out and the room spun. I stared in a perverse trance, feeling too sick to even throw up. A million rats were gnawing on my insides.

The crushing guilt came next, like a tidal wave washing over me. _My daughter..._ was dead, and it was my fault. Al and I both loved her -- what the hell were we doing fighting over her? We couldn't work it out, because... because I couldn't put my own daughter before my own selfish needs. And now, it was too late...

Eventually, my eyes fell upon a piece of blood-splattered paper lying on the floor. I picked it up and gazed at the writing with eyes that wouldn't quite focus.

 

**_I was never meant to exist. But don't let my death be for nothing._ **

 

Tears splattered the paper now, too.

I heard a car outside, and my head snapped up. It had to be Al. Panic drove me to my feet. I couldn't let Al see... I wiped at my eyes and took a deep breath; had to -- it came to me then, with a sense of amazement, that for the first time in my life, I truly knew what it was like to think only of someone else. It had taken tragedy to open my eyes.

I stumbled outside as Al was getting out of his car. Just looking at him, so unsuspecting... I staggered from the realization that my pain for him was more than my own. I'd been too late for my daughter -- I didn't have to be too late for Al.

"Al..." I tried. It came out as a croak. I tried again, yelling to him as I bolted down the stairs.

He took one look at my face and stopped. "Sam? What's wrong?"

I opened my mouth; nothing came out. I saw the intent in his shrewd eyes as they darted to the door. He knew me too well -- I'd never had much of a poker face.

He started to move, and I grabbed his shoulders, blocking his way.

"What's going on?" he asked, more forcefully. "Let me go!"

I held him tighter. "You can't go in there."

"What are you talking about?" There was an edge of panic in his voice now. Of disbelief. Of pleading.

He knew, God help us. "Sammy Jo... she's... dead," my voice cracked.

Al struggled harder, but I held on. "That's not funny!"

"She killed herself," I heard myself say, as if from a great distance. I hung on to him for dear life, tears running down my cheeks.

"God... _no_..." he finally wailed, like a wounded, terrified animal. The sound sent a shiver through my whole body.

Al sank to the ground against the car. I went down with him, just hanging on, as he sobbed. I felt like a sponge, trying to soak up his pain. Violent shudders wracked his frame, as if he was being torn apart from the inside. I gathered him closer.

And finally saw how much he'd loved her. And that _all_ of it was my fault.

We cried together for a long time; father and lover. Yet it underscored our own bond. Somewhere, a night bird was calling. It sounded like 'too-late, too-late, too-late'...

_Why_? screamed inside my head, though I couldn't bear the asking, because I wanted to deny the answer. A thousand fingers, down through time, pointed at me accusingly. Yet even as I knew, I could do nothing. No self-punishment, no guilt on my part would make any difference now.

_Don't let my death be for nothing..._

Right now, all I could do was not add Al to my list of casualties. No, that wasn't true. He already was one. All I could do now was take the best care of him I knew how – if he'd let me -- hope I hadn't totally destroyed him this time. It would be some small measure of repentance.

I remembered finding out about Sammy Jo, during the Leap into Abigail's lawyer. Al was right about everything – Al was always right. Did I ever really give a thought to the consequences of my actions? That a poor little girl would grow up without a father? No, ego and pride got in the way. Any pain I had felt was selfish: that I wouldn't be there for her to know me. Even when I got home, I was only thinking of my own needs, hiding behind sanctimonious, self-righteous garbage.

At that moment, I hated myself.

Al finally quieted, but he had a glazed look of shock on his face. "Al," I began, as gently as I could. "I gotta... call someone..."

He looked at me as if I was speaking another language. "But...I have to give Syna her mail."

"Al..."

He gestured feebly towards the car. "I brought her mail over from the office, she always has it delivered there so she can get it right away, but then she forgets to pick it up." He chuckled faintly. "She's got a letter from her mother. I know she'll want to read it."

"Oh, Al..." I moaned in anguish. I pulled his head down onto my shoulder. "She won't be needing it right now," I whispered.

"But I have to give her the letter from her mother..." he insisted.

"Shh..." I murmured, rocking him in my arms.

Al was like a zombie from then on. What happened next didn't much register to me, either. I know I finally got him up off the ground and sitting in the passenger side of the car. I remember using the car phone to call the Project, and waiting for them to come and clean up the mess.

When Verbena arrived on the scene, she promptly gave Al a shot, and drove us to my house. How I got her to take us there, I don't know. I remember sitting in the back seat with Al's head pillowed on my shoulder, him calmed to the point of comatose by that time, me thinking, _this is all a dream, I'm going to wake up and it'll all be over._ We arrived; Verbena put Al to bed, and I somehow convinced her it was safe to leave me alone.

After she left, I stripped down to my underwear and crawled into bed next to Al, rested my head on his chest, and tried to pretend none of it had ever happened.

 

**AL** :

 

When I woke up, I could feel the sun shining on me, like it used to in our home, in the happy days when we'd wake up in a patch of sunlight every morning. Floating in the first moments of awakening, traces of a dream lingered in my mind. Sam was there, like before he Leaped. Warm body against mine, head pillowed on my chest. I was stroking his hair, so soft, lulling him to sleep...

The sweet memory faded and I opened my eyes, squinting against the brightness and cursing it. For some reason, I resented old Sol this particular morning. Awareness dawned as I looked around the room -- and remembered why I hated the sun.

I couldn't sit still without thinking, and if I thought, I'd go insane, so I got up and went into the kitchen. Sam was at the counter, pouring a cup of coffee.

I still felt numb; whether it was from the drug Beeks had given me or just a defensive mechanism, I had no idea. When I looked at Sam, I found I could have some pity on the man who'd lost his daughter -- his child. He was used to fate smiling on him. Me, I was used to... this. Tragedy and I were old friends, and I guess I'd always known, no matter how well things were going, that it was just waiting in the wings, waiting for the right moment. Part of me had known, expected no less. I'd been prepared.

Finally sensing my presence, Sam looked up. His eyes met mine for a brief, pain-filled moment; then he dropped his gaze again and mumbled a quiet good morning.

As I went past, I found myself running my hand down his arm, giving him a brief, slight hug. He seemed surprised, and pathetically grateful.

As I sat down, he put a cup of coffee in front of me, along with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. We sat there, trying to eat, picking at our food in silence. Sleepwalkers, acting out a very bad play. Part of me was amazed that we could be sitting there so calmly, doing something so mundane as eating breakfast, when the world had just ended.

" _How_?" I finally got up enough nerve to ask, glancing up at him.

Pain was etched deeply onto his face, and I wondered if it would ever go away. "She... took pills," he answered, averting his gaze again.

I finally gave up trying to eat, although I did force myself to finish the toast. I watched as Sam rose, going over to the garbage with his plate. "You should at least try to eat your toast," I told him.

"Why?" he asked, in a genuinely questioning tone. "I don't matter anymore." He scraped the food into the compost bag.

"It's my fault," came out of my traitor mouth, unbidden. Old habits always die a hard death.

"It's _our_ fault," he told me firmly. "But that won't bring her back."

I was amazed at the calm way he was dealing with things. He hadn't broken down; on the contrary, it was me who'd fallen apart and had to be sedated. But it didn't fool me, either. It actually scared me more than if he'd flipped out. It was unnatural -- especially for Sam.

I realized that thinking about him kept my mind off my own reactions. Maybe there was some advantage in my feelings for him, after all.

"No," I agreed, voice barely above a whisper, "it won't bring her back."

Sam finally met my eyes directly, and I wished he hadn't. "Her note said, 'don't let my death be for nothing'. I've been sitting here trying to figure out what she meant, but now I think I know." His voice, which up until then had been quiet, grew stronger. "I was only there to save Abigail, that's all. I could go back, and make sure Sammy Jo was never conceived... do the right thing."

I should have been expecting it, but my mind was still pretty fuzzy. I resisted asking Sam to go back and make sure _I_ was never born, and shook my head sadly. "It's too risky."

"Do you think I care about the risks?" he almost shouted.

 I sighed tiredly, rubbing at my temples and wondering if Verbena would give me another shot if I asked. I clung to the numbness like a life preserver. "Okay -- how do you know you'll be able to resist Abigail this time? You couldn't then..."

Sam's former calmness turned to agitated animation. "Then maybe I could go back and prevent... prevent... that little girl from falling in the well. That way there'd be no reason for me to Leap in..."

"Why not just go back and save the children from Grandma Fuller? Or save her from going off the deep end? Or maybe prevent the children from being born?"

"Oh, God..." Sam whimpered, in dawning realization.

"That's exactly what you're talking about -- playing God. We have no right to make the decisions about who to save."

"But I _have_..." Sam whispered. Without warning, he ran out of the kitchen.

I recognized the signs of incipient desperation, and followed. He was in the bedroom, hastily getting dressed. "Where are you going?"

 "I know what I've got to do," Sam told me. "Destroy the Accelerator -- make sure no one else suffers."

Actually, it was one of his better ideas. We could no longer deny the potential disaster that could come from a machine like that. If it should fall into the wrong hands, or be used for the wrong purposes -- even the right hands hadn't been able to resist temptation.

"This is what she meant," Sam babbled, in a manic rush. "I've got to stop this now -- put an end to this terrible thing I've created."

"You're right," I told him. "It should be destroyed." He stopped what he was doing in mid-zip, and looked at me. "But we can't do this _now_ ," I stressed, hoping he wasn't past seeing reason. "We have to plan things out carefully, make sure the whole Project's gone beyond any chance of rebuilding. And the government isn't going to be pleased."

"Fuck 'em," he spat.

"Which means, as the only people who have the knowledge to rebuild it -- as well as making ourselves felons -- you and I will have to disappear, start a new life." I paused, thinking over our options. "Maybe we can go to Mexico. I know some people who could probably help set us up."

Sam was staring at me. "We?" he whispered.

I shrugged. "We're all we have left." The simple truth. What else was there to do?

I went to him, and we held each other tightly.

 

QLQLQL

 

Don't get me wrong; things were far from okay between Sam and I, and they wouldn't be for a long time, if ever. When not working together at the Project and on our plans, we retired to our separate hells. Still, somehow, we clung to each other, like the only two survivors of a holocaust. It brought us closer together, it ripped us further apart, until all we knew was a kind of limbo in between.

By the time of Syna's funeral, everything was set up. The timing was perfect, since everyone from the Project would be attending. That meant only a handful of people left in the Complex to worry about. It had surprised me to learn Syna had stated in her will her wish to be buried at Stallion's Gate.

As I stood there listening to the service, I asked myself what kind of a Project had its own cemetery. In the beginning, I'd consoled myself with memories of the first space flights, the knowledge that whenever man reaches out for greater things, some lives are inevitably given and lost for the cause. Today it wasn't enough.

Abigail was there, too, with her husband and a young daughter. At least she hadn't lost her only child.

I remembered when she'd been expecting. It had been a rough pregnancy, and her age hadn't helped. It had been hard on Syna too, worrying about her mother and swamped with her work. She'd done everything she could to help, even went and stayed with them as it got closer to delivery time. Torn between wanting to give every waking moment to the retrieval program and being there for Abigail, she'd run herself ragged. Syna was always thinking of others before herself.

I saw Sam watching them. Probably thinking about could-have-beens. Maybe he was even wishing...

I tried to shrug off those thoughts. None of it mattered now, anyway, and I felt guilty thinking selfish thoughts at a time like this.

I felt the hand in mine squeeze, and looked up to see Sam's eyes on me, now. I blinked. Could I really have seen what I thought I did in his eyes? Not that either of us really had a choice anymore. We were stuck with each other. Bound together by terrible secrets, great wrongs. Funny, how 'The Impossible Dream' used to be our song. We'd finally come up against that unrightable wrong -- the one we created, and couldn't fix.

Afterwards, we all climbed into our vehicles and drove to the restaurant. Syna was very specific on that -- we were all to eat, drink, and be merry. Not mourn her passing, but celebrate her memory. Of course, this was all before she'd known how her life would end...

I was just as glad to miss that part; I didn't think either Sam or I would feel comfortable celebrating the life we'd murdered. We grabbed Gooshie before he could get inside the restaurant, 'suddenly' remembering that there was something we had to look into back at the Project. We'd been having some trouble, and told him we were afraid there could be a serious problem developing. We assured him we'd be back soon.

Since almost everyone was in town, there was only the barest skeleton crew, and the minimum amount of guards required for security. We drove in, quickly got to work. Ziggy was programmed with the fail-safe self-destruct command Sam had worked out. There would be a false alarm first, enough to get all the remaining personnel off the premises and to a place of safety. Ziggy would make sure there was no one left at the Complex before completing the command. Once the radium ring collapsed and the explosion went off outside of it, the whole place would be sealed off, containing the contamination within the mountain. We were lucky -- if it had been ten years ago, we would have finished off the whole state with an explosion like that. With the technology we had now, the only casualty would be the Project base.

One of the hardest things was saying goodbye to Ziggy. It was like... like taking another life. Infuriating at times, exasperating most of the time, he'd stopped being just a computer a long time ago.

Worse, I guess, that Ziggy knew what was going on. He agreed with our logic, with the necessity. Like Syna, Sam had given him life; now, Ziggy was taking that life.

I held onto Sam for extra support. I didn't know what kind of glue was holding him together, but so far, he'd managed. I don't think it really hit him until this final moment.

The last goodbye.

"Ziggy," Sam said in a shaking voice. "Start the final destruct program."

STARTED, DOCTOR BECKETT. I WOULD SUGGEST VACATING THE PREMISES, AS YOU NOW HAVE TEN POINT FIVE MINUTES TO LEAVE THE COMPLEX.

"Ziggy, I..." Sam began. "I'm... sorry..." He hesitated. I think at that exact moment, we were both thinking of... of just staying. The idea had its appeal.

"Let's go," I told Sam quietly. "For Sammy Jo."

DOCTOR BECKETT, ADMIRAL CALAVICCI. IF I WERE HUMAN, I WOULD PERHAPS THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME LIFE, FOR HOWEVER SHORT A TIME. I MIGHT EVEN TELL YOU THAT I LOVE YOU.

Sam broke from my grasp and ran out into the hallway.

"We love you too, Ziggy," I whispered, then followed Sam out.

We had an unknown car waiting for us outside, along with our new I.D.'s. It would look like a serious malfunction had destroyed the Project, taking the lives of Dr. Beckett and Adm. Calavicci as well. With luck, the government would never find out we were still alive, and we'd be free to live without looking over our shoulders all the time. Whatever kind of a life we managed to salvage from among the ruins.

 

QLQLQL

 

The desert highway stretched before us, seeming endless.

When we heard the tell-tale whoosh, we pulled over to the side of the road to watch the Project... die. It wasn't as spectacular as the early nuclear blasts, just a ceasing of energy. I stood silently beside Sam, acknowledging the tears in both our eyes.

It was our dream dying. And that hurt, even though it was something which never should have been conceived.

We finally got back into the car and drove down the highway... toward our new life.

 

 

the beginning

 

_"Some dreams were meant to stay in the clouds..."_

_\-- Al Calavicci_

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who want to be spoiled, this story has: adultery, suicide, death of minor canon character, semi-graphic death. But though the hours be dark, there's always hope of the light eventually returning.


	3. Among the Ruins 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Al try to build a life among the ruins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapters were originally a separate story titled, "Among the Ruins."

It was the middle of the next night when we finally reached the hacienda outside of Salinas, Mexico that Al's friend had set up for us. I was tired and my eyes burned from holding back the pain, but I didn't want to think about going to bed yet, afraid of the nightmares that had recently kept me company in my lonely exile.

I poked around the house a little. The place was small, but cozy. I liked it. Surrounded by vines and other foliage, it was hidden as well as isolated. The walls were a reddish brown stucco, and everything was done in the typical Southwestern pastel blues, browns, and oranges. There was a fireplace in the corner, probably our only means of heating. Al was busy starting a fire. The couch though, was an actual brown leather cloud that I couldn't resist flopping down in. It swallowed me up, bringing instant comfort to my aching body, if not my mind.

I watched Al fix us both strong drinks from the bar by the window, saying nothing. We hadn't talked more than was necessary the whole trip; there didn't seem much to say.

As if to prove my point, Al silently handed me my drink, then turned on the TV and sat down. Not next to me, but in the rocking chair in the corner. The newscaster was relating the days' world events. She reminded me of Tamlyn; another dark-haired Asian beauty, this one speaking fluent Spanish. It only made me hope I hadn't screwed up _her_ life in any way. It was beginning to look like I'd done more harm than good, in the long run. At least it felt that way to me.

Then, a familiar landscape came on the screen, and Al grabbed the remote to raise the volume. It was a news broadcast about an explosion near Socorro, New Mexico. After briefly relating the facts, the lady was replaced by a segment taped earlier. Gooshie stood outside of the restaurant, being interviewed.

Seeing the look of sorrow on his face wrenched me anew. Somehow, with all the other pain to be dealt with, I hadn't thought about how this one would affect me. Knowing all our friends and family thought we were dead--they'd attend our funerals, grieve--as we were doing now. In that moment I longed for a hand in mind, just a gentle touch. But it was as if Al was light-years away. Worse than a hologram. I sighed, swallowing my feelings.

I was so tired of hurting I wanted to scream.

Gooshie told the story as we'd choreographed it: there'd been some malfunction at the Project, Dr. Beckett and Admiral Calavicci had gone back to check on things. Everyone else at the complex had evacuated when the warning alarm went off. He said, with a suspicious wetness in his eyes, that knowing how dedicated the two of us were, he suspected we'd stayed that moment too late, trying to fix the problem and save the Project. I could see others in the background, milling around, but had no desire to identify any of them.

Abruptly, the screen changed back to the anchorwoman. She said, in the calm, matter-of-fact tone of newscasters, that it would be some time before it would be safe to enter the area, but since the bodies would have been vaporized, the government didn't anticipate that any remains would be found.

The local Salinas news droned on afterwards. Two men stabbed each other in a bar fight; customers of Mexico Power and Light could expect rate hikes. My family--whom I hadn't seen in six years and hadn't even gotten to talk to since my return--thought I was dead. No goodbyes, I'd never see them again. Was there a point to surviving?

I jumped up and turned off the TV that was suddenly getting on my nerves.

"Well, it worked, that's something," Al said as I made myself another drink. "They bought it, no one will be looking for us." When I decided not to answer, he continued. "Make me another too, will ya? Maybe it'll keep the nightmares away."

"You have nightmares too?" I asked, then instantly regretted it. Of course he did. We'd both lived the same horror. I handed him his drink, downed my in one gulp, and set out to explore the rest of the house. After all, from now on this was home.

There was a nice-sized kitchen, with a dining area off to the left of it, a study complete with a decent amount of books, a laundry room. As I came to the last room, I sensed Al approaching.

"There's only one bedroom..." And as I was painfully aware, that wasn't enough for us anymore. We hadn't slept together since--since before I leaped. We'd platonically shared a bed, that horrible night...

"That's all we'll need," Al said in a quiet tone.

I spun around to look at him in surprise, my shock doubling when my eyes involuntarily glanced down and saw the ring on his finger. "I can't believe...you still want me," I whispered.

Al came forward, slowly, and placed his arms almost carefully around me. Against my conscious control, I found myself welcoming his embrace as if he was the governor, come with an eleventh hour pardon for the condemned man. I held on, tightly, to the only thing I had left to hold onto. _Do I have him left_? I wondered.

"We're both guilty in our own ways," Al told me. "And now, all we have is each other. We chose to live, not to die with our Project. If we're going to survive, to make a new life somehow, we need each other. I know I can't do it alone," he added in an almost pleading voice.

"Me either," I answered, and, for the first time in six years, we kissed.

It wasn't much of a declaration of love, could even have been considered depressing. Being together not because he chose me, but because there was no one else. But I was desperate, lonely, hurting. And it was the best offer I'd ever heard. I'd take it, try to put the past to rest eventually. Because I knew without a doubt, that I still loved and wanted Al Calavicci. No amount of time, pain, or disaster could change that simple truth.

And from among the ruins, I vowed to salvage our love. Somehow.

 

**AL** :

 

It didn't happen like it does in romance novels. Our big reunion scene wasn't a storm of passion. More like two, lost, shipwrecked souls, hanging on with all their strength, a shared life-preserver between them. Slowly, with caution for the fragile balance we tread, I took Sam's hand and led him into the darkened bedroom.

There was a fireplace in there, too. I attended to it, grateful for the breathing space it afforded me. This wasn't just a spur of the moment decision, I'd known there was only one bedroom. Still, uncertainty plagued me as I watched the flames start to grow. Would our relationship be like this fire, or one that had burned out beyond re-kindling a long time ago?

I could see Sam out of the corner of my eye; he turned down the blanket, kicked off his shoes, then sat down on the bed and...waited, watching me without word. I turned to look at him. He'd always looked beautiful by firelight, it caught the light in his eyes. He was still beautiful. He was still my husband.

I went to him, sat on the bed beside him. My hand went up to the side of his face, taking pleasure in the feel of his warm skin, the handsome features before me.

Sam was shaking slightly, gazing at me with those old familiar puppy eyes. A pup who's uncertain, afraid he might be kicked, but willing to trust his master anyway.

"How can you stand to...be with me?" he asked in a voice so low I just about heard him.

I recognized the signs well. He was working up to take all the blame upon himself. He always did act as if he was personally responsible for everything. "You aren't the only one who's made mistakes, Sam. Believe me, I've sinned. More times than I want to think about. I don't want to do any more thinking tonight." I reached up and pulled his head down. Maybe tonight we could fight the demons together.

As our kiss deepened, he whimpered, that little sound he always made that said he was sinking into arousal, and I was hit with a wave of nostalgia. The sight, the smell and sound of him was so damned familiar. All the old memories, happier times, came rushing back. I willingly allowed them, wanting nothing more than to drown in them.

Our naked bodies fit together just like they always had, erasing years and easing pain. If I closed my eyes I could almost believe it was six years ago. The world was just Sam and I, and nothing else mattered. Only he had ever made me feel like that, putting his whole soul into our love-making.

Forgiveness came as my hands and body re-learned the man I'd married. A man who could be selfishly thoughtless, made some big mistakes, but a man who wanted only to make the world a better place. One who felt pain with a keenness most of us could never imagine. A gentle, pampered, innocent boy who'd been told repeatedly that he was God's gift to mankind and science--then forced to bear with that unbearable sorrow, to watch people hurt and die--to take life with his own hands. To love and lose. To learn to care about people only to find himself with strangers in the blink of an eye. No vacation, no reprieve from the endless cycle of confusion/emotion/losing. Was he really to blame for being screwed up?

And what of me? I'd become a stranger to myself. What had happened to Al Calavicci along the way? The compassionate, caring man who understood only too well because he'd battled his own demons. The man who saw what few others' had--the love and goodness in the boy prodigy. Who loved him and stood by him, battling the windmills at his side. When had I become so bitter and hateful? If he was guilty, we both were. If I was a victim of circumstance, so was he. If I was suffering from the stress of being his observer for six years...

Without my anger towards him blinding and protecting me like a suit of armor, I felt like I'd just taken off a very clouded pair of glasses. I was ashamed, and with the shame came a need to give, to ease some of the pain.

"I'm sorry," I said with quiet feeling. More needed to be said, but it would have to wait until later. Now was the time for love. I slid down his body, and, worshipful, seeking absolution and to serve, I bent over and took that living part of him into my mouth.

I let the taste, feel, and sounds of him occupy all my thoughts then, concentrating on recapturing an abandoned skill as I brought him to the very edge. Then I eased off, looking up at him.

His eyes were tightly closed, fingers tangling in the bed sheet. When it registered that I'd stopped, he opened his eyes and locked them with mine. His hands let go of the sheet to grab my forearms. "Go ahead, do it," he whispered hoarsely. "Fuck me."

I stroked his lower belly. "So you can do your penance?" I asked quietly.

"I..." Sam looked away momentarily, then met my eyes again. "Yes," he admitted. There he was, open and vulnerable, naked, chest heaving with his breathing. Offering me anything I wanted to take.

I shook my head. "Our joining has to be only in the name of love, especially now."

"I thought it was because we didn't have anything else."

I flinched slightly. "I want to make us both feel good. Because...because I love you."

Tears sprang to his eyes. "You mean it?" Again, that puppy dog. Who knows nothing of sinning, only wanting to be loved.

_I've made you doubt me._ Somehow, that hurt most of all. I could only nod, rise and go into the bathroom. Avoiding the mirror like a plague, I grabbed a bottle of hand lotion out of the medicine cabinet.

He was waiting when I returned, lying on his stomach, unmoving. I knelt on the bed, turning him over to face me. As questioning, dull eyes looked up at me, I bent and took his cock into my mouth again. A sharp intake of surprised breath was followed by a moan, as his body relaxed at the pleasure.

If I was out of practice, I don't think he noticed. As badly as we both needed release, he was writhing on the bed, bucking up into my mouth in no time. I knew it wouldn't be long. Not wanting him to come like that, I eased off.

He cried at the loss of contact, eyes seeking mine--and I wanted to hide from the countenance of doubt, uncertainty. The guilty child inside, wondering if he was being taunted, only to be abandoned.

I used my mouth to convey my apology, then eased him into position, on his hands and knees, and quickly prepared us. My own erection throbbed painfully, begging for the annihilation of release.

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I placed the tip of my dick at the opening to his body, parting his cheeks with my fingers. We were both shaking, with fear or desire, I don't know. Probably both. I pushed in slightly, freeing one of my hands to reach around him and take his cock into my hand, to bring him pleasure, and afford me a balance in a way that reeked of nostalgia. It was like riding a bike, I kept telling myself.

Then, before I had a chance to continue my slow entrance, Sam pushed backwards, roughly impaling himself until he was almost sitting in my lap. We both cried out at the abrupt joining, and I instinctively began thrusting roughly. The sensations overwhelmed me before I had any hope of tempering them. I pulled him into me, again and again, hoarse cries ripped from my throat in harmony with his guttural groans. Then, bright pinpricks burst before my eyes. I squeezed them shut tightly, as the passion erupted outward. I buried myself inside him as far as I could, filling him with that part of me that hadn't known him in years.

Home, at last.

 

QLQLQL

 

It came in the middle of the night.

Acceptance of equal guilt turned into crushing knowledge of sole responsibility. The demon who lived inside me was loose once again, to taunt me with his latest sins.

It was me who had caused the tragedy in our lives. Only me. If I hadn't cheated on Sam with Syna, she'd still be alive. The project would still be standing...

And Sam, sweet Sam, who could be convinced of his blame so easily, had had everything taken away from him. By his own husband. Once again, I'd fucked it all up, just like all my other marriages. The only difference was, Sam was too stupid to get fed up and walk out.

Or too much in love.

Even I, with my self-proclaimed tragic childhood and even worse adulthood, couldn't even imagine the heartache Sam had to endure while leaping. Conditioned to expect loving would be followed by losing, over and over. If he had remember our marriage...he would have honored his vows. Unlike me, Sam was honorable beyond reproach. But he didn't remember, and that wasn't his fault. Instead, he took some comfort from time to time, temporary love with an edge of desperation. I had no doubt, it helped keep him sane. I well knew how those stolen moments of love needed to counteract the horror of the war around us helped my fellow prisoners and I face yet another hopeless day.

But because Sam was sleeping with others, I had felt it my prerogative to follow suit, knowingly breaking the vows I'd made with such sincerity. I remembered that day in the mission chapel, silently thanking God that I'd gotten another chance. That the laws had finally been passed which allowed us to seal our commitment to each other. Looking at Sam, face bright with happiness and love, silently promising him I'd never make the same mistakes again.

Except I had.

People thought of me as a strong man. If they only knew. I was weak, a coward. A loser who couldn't get through life without the lies, the pretense. A bottle to bolster my courage here--a cheap affair to ease the pain there. Because I didn't have the guts to face life's trials.

But Sam had. Faced and triumphed, more in those five years than most people go through in a lifetime. Fought countless wars, went through marriages and divorces, suffered from broken homes. Learned the responsibilities of being a man. Rites of passage. Committing, for him, the ultimate sin. Taking life with his own hands. Did he drop out, become an alcoholic? No. All he did was seek some comfort in the arms of women he knew he would be torn from. And for this supposed sin, I'd condemned all of us.

Gradually, I became aware of where I was. That someone was with me. I was on the patio, the hard concrete cold where it touched my exposed skin. Sam had his arms around me, was rocking us both gently. I'd slipped away again, like that time outside of Syna's house. I wondered if it meant I was finally going over the edge.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, his voice a whisper on the breeze.

It seemed like an inane question, but I kept from saying so. I had more important things to talk about. "It was my fault, not yours."

"What?"

"Don't play dumb, you know what. All of it. It's my fault she's dead."

"Al," he began warningly.

I didn't know how to begin saying all the things I'd just discovered. "I was wrong, don't you understand?!" I almost shouted, and Sam held me tighter, trying to soothe me. "I cheated on you, and I was wrong."

Sam, graciously, remained silent. Sam, whose fragile mental state from the stress of leaping was like an open wound. One I'd poured acid into. A fragile psyche that should have been treated with utmost care. Rebuilt with loving gentleness.

"I didn't damage you beyond all repair, did I?" I asked, fearful of the answer. I looked around at the ruins of our life. Of Syna's life. Of the hundreds of people, people with families to support, who were abruptly out of a job. At the Becketts, who were mourning the death of their son and brother and uncle, right this moment. And the answer was obvious.

I would have saved the world any further damage and killed myself right then, but there was Sam to think of.

"It'll be all right, Al," Sam murmured.

Who was he kidding? "You don't really believe that?!" I demanded. Maybe I wanted a fight, needed him to hate me, just so I could tolerate myself.

"We're together." As if that said it all.

Maybe, for Sam, it did. For the same reason he'd put up with me all these years, staying married to me no matter what. Forgiven anything and everything. Taken blame that should have been mine upon himself.

"That's why I married you," I murmured.

"Huh?"

I twisted around so I could see his face, barely visible in the light coming from a lamp inside. "Because you're perfect. And you put up with a fool like me."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, confused.

_How can you stand to...be with me?_ Sam's voice echoed in my head. His eyes, as he silently lay there like Jesus being nailed to the cross. Believing he was shit, because I'd told him so.

I grabbed his face in my hands fiercely. "I'm trying to tell you it's all my fault. Not yours. I started this whole thing by turning my back on my vows and getting involved with Syna. It wasn't your fault." Somehow, I had to get that through to him. Couldn't let him punish himself for my sins any longer. "I don't expect you to believe that now, I've done too good a job at ripping you to shreds. But I promise, I'll convince you. Even if you decide to leave me," I added, letting go of the beloved face.

"You said yourself, we're in this together. We always were."

I don't think I ever--ever--truly and completely realized what a gift I had--what a treasured miracle I had in Sam's love...until that moment.

"Forgive me," I said, to everyone, laying myself at his feet.

Sam ran his fingers through my hair. "Each other, Al," he whispered. I shook my head in denial, too exhausted to speak any more. "We can't sort all this out tonight," he continued, tugging at me gently. "Let's go back to bed."

Bed. It was a good idea. It was time for me to offer myself as he had done, let him take possession of my body and soul once again. Let him own me, as he always had. I wanted him to fuck me until I never forgot that important fact again.

I let him lead me back inside.

 

**SAM** :

 

_Blood was everywhere._

_In my hands, my hair. No matter how hard I tried to wipe it away, it kept coming, trickling into my eyes and mouth. I wanted to gag, scream, run, but I was frozen with an absolute terror I'd never known the likes of before._

_As much as I wanted to keep my eyes squeezed tightly shut, something bade me open them. I did. Sammy Jo was standing before me, smiling at me. I almost smiled back – then saw where the blood was coming from. It was spurting from her neck, slit open end to end. Blood dripped from the jagged ends of hanging flesh, running down her pretty dress. She reached out a hand towards me. I backed up, tripping over something, and fell. As she advanced, blood ran down into my eyes until I couldn't see. I found my voice, screaming, as something touched me..._

"Sam! It's all right, it's only me!"

The blood disappeared, leaving only the glow of a small lamp. I blinked, and stopped screaming. I wasn't in New Mexico, I was in Mexico, with Al. Where we'd been for the last week. My throat was raw. I was on the floor by the bed, back up against the wall. Al crouched in front of me, hands on my shoulders.

"Sam--are you back with me now?"

Whatever had been holding me upright, caved in. I collapsed, burying my head in Al's lap, sobs wracking my body. The afterimage of scarlet burned behind my eyelids, and I rubbed them roughly, trying to dispel the horrible vision.

"Shh..." he murmured, patting my head. "It was a nightmare. It's over now."

I had some serious doubts about that, but I kept them to myself. Instead, I found myself straining to get closer to him, almost climbing in his lap in my desperate need for more closeness.

"Hey..." Al gently pried me off of him. "Let's get back in bed, huh? What you have in mind will be a lot easier."

The moment we were on the bed again, I plastered myself along every inch of his body. He continued to soothe me, wiping my wet face with his fingers, rubbing my back. I suddenly wondered how I'd ever stood the nightmares all those nights alone.

"You wanna talk about it?" Al asked, not without hesitation.

The grotesque image flashed again, and I closed my eyes tightly, shaking my head. I couldn't; I'd lied to him about how Sammy Jo had really killed herself. He had enough of his own demons to fight, and I felt bound to keep this last terrible fact to myself until the day I died.

"I really mean it, Sam. If you need to talk..."

My heartbeat had calmed down. My body, cold from the floor, had warmed with the heat of his. I inhaled his scent and pressed myself tighter against him. "I need something, but it isn't to talk."

His hands moved down to cup the cheeks of my ass. I felt the heat start to build in my loins, as desire wound its way through my nervous system.

I pulled myself away from my haven in his neck, lips touching his for a kiss. I spoke, my voice low and intimate. "I want to feel you inside me. To have a living part of you inside my body, so we'll be a part of each other."

He shivered at my words, reached onto the bedside stand for the tube of lubricant. I grabbed the spare pillow from the foot of the bed, and he put it under me as I lifted my hips. I watched as he prepared himself, loving the sight of him so much, naked, partially aroused, male strength and solid comfort. Something I craved, could never get from women, from anyone but him. Maybe that's why I took them all to bed during the leaps, maybe I was searching frantically for that one thing I couldn't remember, but needed. I had to tell him, but later, after we were both spent. I reached out to take over the job, fingers caressing as I spread the K-Y over his skin, pleased to feel him stiffening more in my hands. While I worked, he took me in hand, helping to prepare me for what came next. Not that it was necessary. There were times when I was more ready than others. This was definitely one of those times.

Al pulled out of my hands and raised my legs. There was no resistance as he slid into me in a clean, smooth stroke. My first intake of breath dissolved into a sigh of pleasure as the feeling of his bulk filling me. Sometimes we fit so well, the pleasure was almost a physical ache.

He started a gentle thrusting, all the way in, then all the way out. Caressing me with every inch of his hard cock as he pumped. The feeling was incredible. His hands slipped under me, onto my cheeks, pulling me up and into him. I cried out as the sensations increased, and he groaned my name roughly.

As I felt us both nearing the edge, I reached out to grab my own cock, adding the last bit of stimulation I'd need to push me over. When I felt his warm seed filling me, I increased my pace and came within seconds. Feeling the love, so strong, so pure--for the first time, I began to believe that our love might be enough to withstand even the bitter wounds we'd inflicted upon it. All the hurtful things we'd said to each other.

After a moment that was a lifetime, I reached up and pulled him down on top of me, not wanting to lose contact right away. Safe in our cocoon of love, I quietly began telling him what I'd realized; who and what I'd really been looking for with all those women.

 

QLQLQL

 

The building of our new life was slow and tentative. We'd made our peace with each other, and spent the solemn days quietly, sometimes together and sometimes not. Waiting for time to heal.

It was also a busy period. We needed a new identity to go with our new life. In the next couple of months, I was again amazed at Al's resourcefulness. The mystery man who'd gotten him the house knew people who could assist us in 'staying dead'. We had new identifications, new pasts, even new looks to go with it.

We spent awhile in seclusion in Mexico City, while one of the best cosmetic surgeons in the world used us as guinea pigs. Luckily, he was brilliant, a genius who was so far ahead of his time, he had trouble getting people to let him experiment. Al swore he was another me.

Our features weren't changed completely, we still looked, basically, enough like us to make it unwise to go wandering around where anyone who knew us well would be.

Al got the better end of the deal. Dr. Mendez simply chopped twenty years off his age. They might have noticed the remarkable resemblance, but no one would have been able to believe it was Al. He grew his hair, and after so many years in the Navy, I don't think anyone would remember how curly it really was. Giving up his trademark cigars had been hardest on him, easiest on me. When we got back to the house again, he decided to adopt a light regime of weight lifting, changing his physique slightly. He seemed obsessed with changing himself on the outside. Maybe he hoped it would in turn change the inside. But let me stick to our outsides for the time being.

Well, maybe I didn't get such a bad break either. My nose had been kind of big anyway. I had a new chin, that I couldn't quite decide whether I liked or not. After a long, difficult choice, I decided to go lighter rather than darker, making my hair as close to blond as I could stand. Just when I was getting used to that white streak I'd picked up from the Accelerator... Subtle changes, for the most part. To make us look different enough not to arouse suspicion, and the same enough to be comfortable with.

I guess it worked fairly well, although looking in the mirror did take some getting used to. I had Al worried for awhile, after I woke from nightmares, thinking I'd leaped into someone else again. It was a disconcerting feeling for awhile, but I was used to avoiding the mirror.

Finally, our transformations were complete. Al was now Alexander Beccavicci. He was born June 1, 1947, in Italy. Abandoned at birth, he was raised in an orphanage. He had recently lost his wife of 35 years, Ruth, and moved to Mexico to escape the memories.

I was his brother-in-law, Shaun Sanders, and obviously, his wife's family wasn't Italian. That would have been too much of a stretch. I was born on September 6 (which was the date I finally leaped home), 1955. I'd been studying to be a priest, when my sister's death caused me to lose faith, and I also left Italy, with Alex.

I wasn't thrilled about the priest part, but along with Al's mourning, it served as an excuse for the lack of interest in the opposite sex that would be considered celibate behavior by those who had no idea what was going on in our bedroom nightly. It provided a family tie to bind us, but didn't make us related--if someday the opportunity to live openly as a couple came along.

And, speaking of bedrooms, I found that there was indeed a tiny room in the back of the house. It had once been a laundry room, before the new one was added, but was going to serve as my mock bedroom in case of inquisitive guests.

There were a few chancy similarities, but we felt comforted by flavoring our new personas with the familiar. And as Al taught me, when lying, it's always best to make your story as close to the truth as possible.

Now, for the inside stuff. Al was still trying to repent, I guess. I hadn't talked to him about it yet, didn't know what to say that wouldn't make things worse. And I wasn't ready myself, embraced the daily routine we'd fallen into, thankful not to think about any of the painful past. One of the skills I'd acquired from leaping. Maybe I was pretending I was in a leap, I don't know. But at least, this time, Al was there. It made all the difference in the universe.

I became a gardener, if you can believe it. Me. While Al was busy purifying his body and soul, studying every religion from Atheism to Zen, I was out tending my plants and flowers. If I were Beeks, I'd probably say it was symbolic. I was nurturing living things, making them grow and live. And no genetic experiments for me, either. I didn't care to create new strains of clover, or cross-pollinate Crocus. No meddling and changing things for Shaun Sanders. He was a gentle soul, with the utmost respect for life. And that meant letting it be.

 

**AL** :

 

_Syna was calling to me._

_Her voice echoed around me, wavering. She needed me, needed my help, but I couldn't find her. I searched desperately, frantically. Finally, I saw her. She was standing there, her arms out to me. I began running towards her, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get any closer. There were tears in her eyes now, pleading with me silently. Then, accusing eyes, as I failed. Knowing I'd let her down. I wanted so badly to reach out..._

_Then, she fell. As if down a bottomless well, she just kept falling and falling, until her cries faded away to nothing. Silence._

_I fell to my knees in anguish. "Syna!" I screamed._

_Then, another voice floated to my ears. It was Sam. I turned around reluctantly, afraid of what I'd find. Sam was strapped to an electric chair, straining at his bonds in an attempt to escape. Frightened eyes pleaded with me, terrified voice begged me not to desert him. To save him._

_I tried to crawl over to him, knowing I couldn't, knowing I'd be too late. Then there was a blinding light as the switch was pulled, and a thousand volts coursed through his body. When the light was gone, his body was still and lax, sightless eyes still pleading with me._

_I screamed. Felt myself falling backwards down the well. Images rushed past me: Sam, crying for my help as he plunged to his death over a steep cliff. His body hitting the jagged rocks below, broken into pieces._

_The fires of hell rose up around me. I couldn't feel them, it was as if I was a hologram again. But Sam was there, trapped, begging me to get him out, screaming as the flames lapped at his clothing, climbing up and engulfing him in a ball of flame..._

_And Syna was there, yelling to him. She was calling him daddy. She turned to me, reached out...and vanished._

_Then I was in a clearing. A huge tree loomed in front of me, a rope dangling from its thick branch. I knew what was going to happen, but before I had a chance to do anything, Sam's fragile neck was being placed in the noose, the bottom dropped out and we both fell, me through space, Sam until the noose snapped his neck with a crack. His lifeless eyes bulged out, staring at me..._

_And then it was Abigail who was being hung. And Syna was there, screaming for her mother._

_We were together, Sam and I. He had a razor in his hand, his naked wrist exposed. I was telling him it was going to be all right. He brought the razor down against his skin, making the incision. Bright red blood spurted up, getting on my clothes and face as betrayed eyes looked up at me. So much screaming... I covered my ears, wanting it to stop..._

 

Then, mercifully, I found myself in bed. My arms were up, pressing tightly on my ears, and I had a feeling the screaming had come from me. Sam was next to me, trying to ease my arms down.

I went limp, and they flopped down to my side. He gathered me into his arms, holding me against him like a child, murmuring comforting sounds into my hair.

"I can't lose you, too," I moaned. "Not you..."

"You won't lose me. I'm right here."

"Please..."

Sam gently raised my chin, looking into my eyes. "You won't lose me," he repeated. There was such sincerity in his expression, my body sagged in relief.

Now, I've been through more than my share of nightmares over the years. I can't say I'd ever get used to them, but I knew how to live with them. And this time, there was someone warm beside me, love wrapped around me to counteract the horror. I took a few deep breaths to shake off the worst of it.

"I'm okay," I said roughly, but truthfully. I looked at him and managed a shaky smile to prove my point.

Sam smiled back. "Sure it isn't my turn to... _comfort_ you?"

I considered that. It hadn't been quite as easy for me to get used to having a man make love to me as it was Sam, back in the beginning of our relationship. It took me months before it deepened into more than a desire to please and be fair. The walls around me lowered slowly as I accepted my own needs, and the soul-deep pleasure having him inside me could bring. Then he leaped. By the time he came home, I was left feeling wounded, my armor in place again. He'd made love to me since then, but that had been more of a repentance of my own than anything else.

Now...I couldn't think of a better way to forget a bad dream.

"Comfort me good, baby," I sighed, pulling him down on top of me.

 

QLQLQL

 

The days passed. Being alive started coming easier, despite my resistance. The sun rose in the morning, and set at night, and I found myself admiring its simple beauty again. Hope began to replace bleak emptiness, although there were still times when I'd wonder why I was enjoying this magnificent sunset, when Syna would never see another. Or when I'd pull Sam to me in bed at night and feel guilty at the pleasure I was feeling.

I'd been afraid Sam would soon grow bored with the quiet life we were leading, but I was wrong. He seemed content to putter with his greenery. Our neighbors had seen his success, and now he had a job, tending to several of the gardens around here.

I kept myself busy with my studies, still needing to search for answers, to help me carry on. The inactivity was almost like being in hibernation, or a cocoon, awaiting the rebirth. When I made peace with myself, accepted my sins, then...maybe.

We had one close neighbor for company, and old guy named Gilberto. He was sort of a jack-of-all-trades, and could always be counted on for everything from running an errand in town, to helping with a repair around the house. He called Sam Sandy, and me Alejo--one of the Spanish versions of Alexander, and Sam liked it so much he started calling me that too.

Did I refer to Gilly as an old guy? The pot calling the kettle black, actually. He was 64, spry and colorful, and liked his tequila. Funny how I've never thought of myself as old, have looked at people my age and seen nothing there to relate to. It started a long time ago, when I realized age meant a decrease in sexual activity. I wasn't about to cut down on my favorite sport--ergo, I had to stop aging. That's just as well. I think if I'd accepted my true age, I'd never have made it through these last difficult months.

I mean--I'm too old for this shit.

 

**SAM** :

 

I knelt on the ground, testing a virgin patch of soil for its suitability for planting. It was early morning. Dawn was just beginning to take root in the sky, and the only sound around me was the breeze through the trees.

The dirt felt good under my fingers, bringing memories that should have been painful, yet somehow comforted me. I remembered when I was four, and, to keep me out of trouble, Dad had sent me out in the garden with a handful of seeds and a book on growing vegetables. He said we had the biggest tomatoes that year he ever saw in his life. Knowing I was partial to them, Mom fried up a mess of green tomatoes, and I ate so many of them, I got a bellyache.

I hadn't had fried green tomatoes in forever.

A gentle hand startled me by raising my head up. I hadn't even heard Al come out, but he was sitting beside me, robe loosely belted around him.

"You've got a dirty face," he murmured, his thumb wiping my cheek. It came away wet, and that surprised me too. "What are you planting now?" he asked.

"Sweet Woodruff, if the soil's good enough." I let it sift through my fingers again. I wondered if Sammy Jo had ever known of joy of planting something and watching it grow. It saddened me to realize how little I really knew about my own daughter.

Why did she even let herself become involved with Al in the first place? Knowing he was married; who I was to her. Or maybe she didn't, at the time, maybe she found out afterward, too.

There was so much we'd never know...

"I don't understand any of it," I whispered, wiping a sleeve across my face.

"Me, either," Al said, and touched his lips to mine, a gentle brushing. "It's early yet. Come back to bed."

He took me by the hand, and we went back inside.

 

**AL** :

 

The patio lights were on, although it was still light yet. I gazed out past the little yard, listening to Gilly's tom cat attempting a conquest. There was a high-pitched yowl, then abrupt silence. Either he got lucky, or Gilly had clobbered him one.

We glanced at each other and grinned.

As I watched, Sam's grin faded and he stared into his beer. I knew there was something on his mind, something serious, by the looks of things. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know what it was.

"Al," he began abruptly. "Why did Sammy Jo kill herself?"

"Sam--" I said warningly, defensively, protectively...of a sensitive subject.

"No," he continued, getting out of the chair and kneeling before me, grabbing my shoulders. "Why did she kill herself?" he demanded more emphatically. "She chose to take her own life. We didn't kill her."

"The life she had..."

"Yes, she had a pretty traumatic life. Lot's of people have, and plenty worse." He continued, ignoring the angry flash of my eyes. "It's understandable that she was emotionally scarred. Mentally--"

"That's enough!" I ordered, suppressing the urge to scream.

"She was my daughter!" he yelled back, then softened his voice again. "And because she was, I feel guilty. And because you loved her, you feel guilty. But we can't go on feeling responsible for the choice she made. She didn't have to do it that way. There are plenty of people who've battled ment--emotional trauma without taking their own lives. She didn't have to do that, she could have come to us, we could have worked it out. She could have gotten help..."

"But she didn't," I said with grim finality.

"No," he almost-whispered. "And it hurts. It hurts that we weren't in time to help her. But--" he stopped, sighed in frustration, then went on saying things I didn't want to hear. "I had to accept the things I couldn't change while leaping, the people I wasn't in time to help. It was hard, but I made my peace with it. We have to make our peace with this, too."

"But--" I began, but feeling less sure of myself suddenly.

Sam pressed his advantage. "Furthermore, the steps that led to her suicide began a long time ago. When she was a child, and saw...what she saw. When she grew up without a father, in a town that thought her mother and grandmother were crazy or possessed. It wasn't you. You're taking the blame for something that happened long before you knew her."

"I know what you're trying to do. Take the blame for me. Again. I'm not going to let you."

"No, I'm not. It wasn't my fault, either."

I looked at him steadily.

"Well, dammit, it wasn't!" he defended. "I was trapped leaping through time. Buddha, or Isis, or whoever you answer to today, leaped me out of there. I had no choice."

I almost said it. My eyes flashed the words, but I bit my tongue, immediately ashamed for the thought. It belonged to the old me. But Sam was deliberately provoking me.

"Okay, I fucked Abigail." I flinched at his rare crudity. "I leaped in fucking her, Al. I didn't have much choice, that first time, and I'm not about to sit around wondering which time was the charm."

"What?" I croaked.

"You heard me. I don't know why I reacted to her the way I did, it never happened that strongly before. But I'm not trying to justify my actions. All I'm trying to do is to get you to see that it's wrong to keep blaming yourself."

I was silent for a long time, fighting an inner battle. I didn't want to accept the logic of his words, but I didn't know why this was so.

Sam got up and went back to his chair and forgotten beer. The shadows lengthened around us, as the sun sunk lower, filtering in through the vines and tree branches.

"What about you?" I finally said.

Sam grinned weakly. "I'm a parent. We're supposed to feel guilty about everything."

I shook his head. "Together," I repeated the by-now familiar litany, locking gazes with Sam. Accepting the truth.

Sam rose, came over to me and knelt down again, gathering me into his arms. "Together," he echoed.

 

**SAM** :

 

We were both searching. Al with his religions and me with my plants. In the end, we realized it was peace we'd been searching for. And that the only place it would be found was from within the soul. Getting there is a long, laborious trip, fraught with obstacles. Peace, a precious commodity that slips through your fingers like quicksilver, so that you keep losing it and looking for it again.

It's a trip that never ends.

 

 

 

end Among the Ruins 1

 

 

 


	4. Among the Ruins 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which healing begins, and a plot twist. Cookies for anyone who guessed...

 

 **SAM** :

 

I'd spent the last half hour trying to break out of jail.

Not literally, but figuratively, as I prayed for a seven with each roll of the dice. A rainstorm had kept us stuck indoors and we were sprawled out on the floor, monopoly board set up in front of us. And it wasn't my day. While Al had quickly amassed property and hotels, I only managed to buy a couple of railroads and skid row slums like Vermont Avenue.

I eyed the rich landlord speculatively. I'm ashamed to say, I've never been a very good loser. "C'mon Al, sell me your Get-Out-Of-Jail- Free card."

"For what?" he inclined his head towards my meager bankroll. "You're a pauper."

"Well, I could trade for something besides money."

"What'd you have in mind?" he asked, eyeing my properties dubiously.

I stretched and lay down, using Al's lap for a pillow. He stroked fingers through my hair almost unconsciously. "You could trade it for a blowjob," I said.

Al looked down at me, grinning in contemplation. "Well..."

I turned my head inward, rubbing my face against the bulge in Al's pants.

"Sam--that's cheating!"

I burst out in laughter at the incongruous statement. "No, this is cheating," I said, and moved to unzip his pants.

"You're never gonna get out of jail this way," Al pointed out, grabbing my hands before they could accomplish their goal.

He had a point, but I didn't think I'd mind a longer incarceration, as long as it included conjugal visits. I resumed my attack in earnest, and before long it had turned into an all-out wrestling and tickling match. We rolled around on the carpet, trying to avoid the board, while Al yelled things like 'prison break', and 'call out the dogs'. Barking and face licking followed, and I was laughing so hard I could barely hold my ground. When Al started sniffing and nuzzling other parts of my body, I knew he'd won there, too.

A loud crack of thunder rang out, and I jumped. With it came a dark cloud, hanging over me ominously. Suddenly, I wasn't in the mood for games anymore. I sat up and turned away, feeling guilty at what I knew Al must view as rejection.

"Hey," Al said gently, rubbing my back. "What's wrong?"

There was such caring in his voice, I couldn't ignore it. "I don't know." I sighed. "It's just...we were having such a good time and..." I turned back to him, meeting his eyes. "I feel...guilty, for enjoying myself. For laughing."

"I know," he said, eyes mirroring perfect understanding. "Me, too."

"But?" I said, expectantly.

"You think there's a but?" he asked, and I nodded. "You think you know me pretty well, don't you?" he teased. "Okay, tell me what I'm going to say."

I took the bait. "That it's understandable, especially the more we start to accept what happened and forgive ourselves. That she didn't do it to hurt us, and she wouldn't want to see us taking it like this."

He gazed at me calmly--and, as my own words sunk in, I knew I'd been had.

_Don't let my death be for nothing..._

Maybe her words held more meanings than just one.

 

 **AL** :

 

The turning point came on an average day in the spring. I'd been gone most of the morning, into town for supplies. When I finally dragged my burden into the kitchen and plopped it down on the counter--Sam was no where to be found for help--the sun was high and I was sweaty and exhausted. I grabbed a glass of ice tea and wandered into the living room, wondering where my lover had gotten to.

HI YA, HANDSOME...

I froze. For a long moment, I was unable to move. I finally did, gaze roaming the room for the source, a sickly familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach. The room was empty of other humans, the same as it always had been except for...

"SAM!"

He came in from outside, following my gaze to the item I was staring at. "Hi, Al," he said brightly.

"What's that?" I demanded.

"It's just our personal home computer. For balancing the check book, things like that."

"The hell it is--that ain't no Macintosh!" I yelled, trying valiantly to keep the grin off my face.

WELL! YOU COULD AT LEAST TALK NICE ABOUT ME, AFTER YOU KILLED ME OFF.

"It's really little more than a PC with limited voice capabilities," Sam hastened to assure me.

MY LIMITATIONS HURT. PLEASE UPGRADE ME.

"I don't think so," Sam said firmly. He went over and shut the computer off, leaving the room blissfully quiet. "Really Al, it--"

"I don't want to know!" I cut him off. Whether it really was just a souped up PC, or whether he had some tricks up his sleeve--literally, when he'd left the Project--I really didn't care. The important thing was, Mr. Green-jeans was showing interest in something again. Not that gardening wasn't a worthwhile occupation--it's just that I knew Sam. It was a good sign. It was a great sign.

"What's its name?" I asked, letting my grin show and pulling him into an embrace. "Not Ziggy, I hope?"

"Zaggy."

I covered my eyes, groaning.

 

QLQLQL

 

"Sam?"

"Yeah, Al?"

"Where the hell is it?!"

"I don't know, Al," he repeated patiently, not looking up from the computer--from his computer game, that is. He was trying to zap all the alien space ships, save the planet from destruction, and break a new scoring record.

Okay, so I was being redundant. But I'd been searching for hours, pulled the living room apart, and I still couldn't find the piece of paper with the phone number I'd scribbled down the day before. It was Rico's new number, Rico being the friend that had helped get us set up in our new life. And while we didn't have any use for it at the moment, one never could be too sure about the future.

"Why don't you call information? I'm sure they have the numero of the Mexico City prison."

"Funny, Sam. If it weren't for him, you might be making license plates yourself, instead of computers."  The boy scout dies hard, he had to be reminded that we were fugitives every now and then.

"Sorry Sundance. No offense meant. Damn!" he swore, as the game apparently took a down turn.

I began pulling out books from the bookcase, stopping when something fell out of one, onto the floor. I stooped to retrieve it, hoping it was the missing number.

It wasn't.

I stared at the envelop in my hands for long moments. It was a letter from Abigail to Syna, dated just before she...died. I vaguely remembered having her mail with me that night--I must have stuck it into the book without thinking, and forgotten about it. The book of poetry, an anniversary present from Sam, was one of the few possessions I took with me to my new life.

I sat down, still holding onto the letter. Instead of throwing it away, burning it, or returning it to Abigail, I tore open the flap with numb fingers, and began to read...

 

**Dear Sammy Jo,**

 

**This is not an easy letter for me to write, I am compelled to speak of things I'd rather have left behind forever. I wish you'd come and get Alice, Sammy. Take her back with you. I fear...she's cursed. I'm afraid for her. I don't want to go into detail here. I know I said I'd take care of her, but the situation has changed. Come and get your daughter. Please.**

 

**Love, Mom**

 

The next thing I new, Sam was beside me on the couch, shaking me. "Al! Talk to me. What's wrong?!"

"Huh?" I stared at him.

"You were out of it for awhile there. What's wrong?"

I handed him the letter wordlessly. He scanned it, then stared at me. "Al..."

I looked at the letter in his hands, remembering. My voice was a monotone. "Things were hectic as hell for us all around that time, and Syna was particularly pre-occupied. Under the weather. She said it was because her mother was pregnant, and she was worried about her... Then she took time off to stay with her. She was gone five months..."

"Oh my god..." Sam murmured.

I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or scream. So I just sat there, waiting.

"I'm a grandfather!" Sam exclaimed, with such an odd mixture of shock, disbelief, and indignation, that I found myself laughing. And, abruptly, my feelings solidified into one overwhelming thought. We had to go and get her, save her from following the pattern of generations. Protect her. Obviously, Sam's thoughts were in tune with mine. His eyes twinkled at me. "We'd better pack," was all he said.

 

QLQLQL

 

We did a lot more than just pack.

It soon became apparent that we wouldn't be able to live there with a young child. Not without pretending to be just friends in our own house. Not without either lying to her, or trying to explain why we were pretending to be people we weren't. It wasn't an atmosphere I wanted to raise a child in.

So we ended up selling the house, buying an RV and packing up whatever belongings we wanted to take with us. Going back into the States was risky, but she was my daughter.

Armed with a vague plan, we left Mexico behind and returned to the States.

"I can't believe I'm a grandfather!" Sam exclaimed, a familiar litany by now.

We were in Texas, on route 10. We'd left Houston behind, and were near the border of Louisiana. I was driving, and Sam was the pain in the passenger seat. Of course, it didn't exactly help that I'd been calling him gramps at every available opportunity.

"I'm too young to be a grandfather, aren't I?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Sorry, gramps."

"This is bizarre. I'm the grandfather of my husband's daughter." But he seemed to be excited by the idea. Maybe he was seeing it as a chance at redemption, an opportunity to do something right this time. Maybe we both were. I don't know.

 

QLQLQL

 

I have to admit, with all the womanizing I did in my youth, I'd wondered, once or twice, what I'd do if I ever found out I was a father. Parental instincts don't always come easy, even for women. Would I feel uncomfortable, unable to relate to my own flesh and blood, wish it hadn't happened?

With Alice, after the first moments of shock, it had never been like that.

She was playing in the yard when we drove up. I breathed a sigh of relief; some long ago memory had filled me with anxiety that I wouldn't be in time. As we got out of the RV and I walked towards her, I blinked back the moisture from my eyes. Sam's hand found its way onto my shoulder, for whose support, I don't know. I realized again with a sense of wonder – this was his flesh and blood as well as mine.

I knelt down next to her. "Hi, sweetheart."

Big brown eyes looked up at me. "You're my daddy."

I glanced at Sam, then back at her. "Yes," I whispered, pulling her onto my knee. "Did your grandma tell you we were coming?"

Alice nodded. "Mommy told me, too."

An uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach kept me from commenting, and fate also intervened. The front door opened, and Abigail came out. I looked at Sam; this would be his first real contact with her since that leap, at the funeral he'd kept his distance. Then there was the question – had she connected us to the men who were supposedly killed in the explosion?

"Hello, gentlemen. Come on the porch, I've got a cold pitcher of ice tea waiting for you. Alice, you stay there and play."

The girl nodded, and I gave her one last hug before following the others to the front porch. There, as promised, a pitcher and three glasses sat on a wicker table. We took the chairs offered and accepted the drinks. I was relieved to be able to watch Alice from where we sat. Now that we were there, I didn't want to let her out of my sight.

Sam and Abigail were looking at each other intently, her as if there was something about him...

"We're so sorry about Sammy Jo," I began to fill the suddenly uncomfortable silence. "And if I'd known about Alice, I would have come before this." I'd explained to her briefly, on the phone, how I'd come to find the letter, and that I was the father. She seemed relieved that I was willing to accept responsibility for raising her.

"She looks like you," Abigail said to me. "I wondered, when I saw you at the funeral. But it isn't the kind of question you can just walk up and ask, especially under the circumstances. I'm glad you called."

"Saw me at the funeral?" I asked, gaping at her.

"Don't worry, you look different enough to fool most folks. It doesn't take an idiot to figure out you were doing something in that desert that shouldn't have been done. That's why you stopped it, isn't it?" She didn't wait for an answer, though. "I don't know what's going on, and I don't want to know. I've been through enough of it to last a lifetime. I have a quiet, normal life now. I want to keep it that way."

"She's your granddaughter," Sam said with slight reproach, seeming surprised at her apparent selfishness.

"Sam--" I warned. Personally, it suited me just fine that she didn't seem to want to be around her grandchild. My own opinion was that the whole family was strange--and I'd just as soon my daughter was raised with someone who could protect her from it.

"Isn't it funny how things run in families?" Abigail began, ignoring Sam's remark. "I had Sammy Jo out of wedlock, and she went and did the same thing."

There seemed to be a deeper meaning to her words, and Sam picked up on it. "You're not talking about that curse garbage? I thought you were more sensible than that. Or have you gotten to be more like your mother as the years have gone by?" Sam asked.

"It doesn't matter whether it's a curse or a--or what. A lot of weird things have happened to my family. I love Alice. I'm afraid for her. That's why I want her to go with her father."

"Sounds sensible to me," I agreed.

"Yes, there were a lot of bad things, but there were logical explanations for them," Sam continued.

"Why are you afraid for Alice?" I asked, deflecting the rapidly souring situation by interrupting it.

Abigail's eyes took on a frightened look as she gazed towards the playing child. "She hears voices."

"All children have imaginary playmates," I said brusquely, suddenly taking Sam's side in the disagreement.

"It used to be Laura Fuller. My mother. No one in this house has ever mentioned her to Alice," she added defensively. "Lately, since...it's been Sammy Jo too. She told Alice her father would come for her."

"Wishful thinking," I grumbled, thinking maybe that's what I was doing, too.

"Don't you understand--I don't want it to happen all over again! I couldn't take any more!" Abigail cried, distraught. Sam grabbed her shoulders, trying to calm her. "Do you want to know Alice's last name? The name Syna put down on the birth certificate? Beccavicci."

Sam and I stared at each other.

"My daughter is not cursed," I said forcefully, standing up and almost knocking over the wicker table. "And I won't sit here and listen to any more of this nonsense." I went down the steps, to be with Alice.

 

 **SAM** :

 

We stared at each other, Abigail and I. It was as if she knew...but didn't know. She hadn't questioned anything, although there was enough about us to question.

I, for the most part, was just glad she no longer had that hold on me she'd had during the leap. She was just a woman.

"She knew," Abigail continued, looking at me meaningfully. "As you know, things I don't."

"Things you're afraid to know?"

She nodded. "I think Alice will be all right, if you take her away from here. She belongs...with you." Again, I had the sense that her knowledge of who I was hovered just out of reach. I didn't know whether I wanted her to reach it, or not. "She's going to be as smart as Sammy Jo was," she said, nodding towards where Al and Alice were playing. "I swear, sometimes I just didn't know what to do with that child. So sensitive, too."

I smiled, remembering my few stolen moments with my little girl, talking about escaping through the world of adventure in books. I blinked back tears.

"It hurts to lose a child," Abigail said quietly.

I glanced at her, then away, and I knew she had me. Knew she'd seen it in my face. "Yes," I agreed.

"Will, my fiance, was so...different, after. I couldn't understand it, and I guess I pushed him away by not being able to accept him for who he was. I don't know why it happened. But I'm happy now. Finally. Ben is everything I've ever wanted."

I grew bold. "Did Sammy Jo ever tell you what we were doing in the desert?”

"No." It was said too quickly, and I saw the lie in her eyes. "Funny, isn't it, that your name is Sam, too?"

"Abigail--" I began, but had no idea what I was planning on saying.

"Sometimes I wonder, if I'll go crazy like my mother did, when I get older."

I grabbed her hand in comfort. "It's behind you. You said yourself, it's over."

She looked at our joined hands. "Then, I wonder, if I'm not already crazy. I don't understand any of it."

"It'll be okay."

"But I know there's a reason for what happened to us. A deeper reason we may never know. What really scares me is, I'm not sure if it's good or evil."

"It's good," I told her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," I answered, thinking of all the people I'd helped while leaping, the good that triumphed over evil. "We're on the side of the angels," I murmured, forgetting where I'd gotten the familiar phrase. My photographic memory wasn't what it once was. "You were meant to exist, Abigail," I told her, thinking of the many times I'd saved her life--been sent to save her.

And, a weight was lifted off my shoulders. If Abigail was meant to be, then so was Sammy Jo, despite what she'd believed. Her death, though painful, was also not in vain. _Your death won't be for nothing,_ I promised silently.

And the beautiful Alice. While Sammy Jo had looked mostly like her mother, Alice's features blended both Al's and Sammy Jo's into one perfect face. She was already a knockout.

And she was meant to be, not cursed.

"Faith, Abigail Fuller," I said, leaning over and kissing her cheek.

"Faith, Samuel Beckett? Do I have this on the authority of a man who 'knows' things?"

"You surely do, ma'am."

We rose and walked down the steps, my arm around her waist. "You'll write and let me know how she's doing?" she asked.

"Of course." We paused, watching Al show Alice how to make a mud pie. "Your father loved you very much. He always took care of you. Sammy Jo's father..." She gazed at me, waiting. "Though he might not have been around to show it, he loved her. He...protected her when he was able. And Alice's father loves her very much. He'll take care of her."

"I believe you."

"She's a beautiful girl," I said, watching her laugh at something Al said.

"And what about me?" Abigail said teasingly, looking at me sideways and grinning. "Am I still as beautiful as I was?"

For just a moment, I saw that enchanting young woman I'd known. "When you wanna be." She laughed out loud. "When you wanna be."

Alice got up and ran over to Abigail, holding up the pie. "Look what I made!" she said proudly. "It's pecan pie."

"That looks delicious," Abigail answered. "Are you ready to go with your father now?"

Alice's head bobbed.

"Her things are on the porch," Abigail told Al, who was brushing the dirt off his pants. He was, perhaps conveniently, not noticing my arm around Abigail.

"I forgot my ball--I have to bring my ball!" Alice insisted.

"Well, where is it?" Al asked.

"In the backyard."

"Well, go get it!" he said, grinning as she bounded around the side of the house.

By the time we'd hauled her luggage into the RV, Alice had returned, holding a red ball in one arm, and two daisies in the other.

"What do you have there?" Al asked, hunkering down to her level.

"They're for you," she explained, her gaze taking in me as well. I crouched down also, and she handed one to each of us. "They're from my mommy," she explained.

Al tensed nervously. I hugged Alice to me and placed a hand on Al's shoulder. "It's okay," I told him with a reassuring smile. "I understand now. She loves us, and she wants us to be happy."

Al looked at the flower thoughtfully. I'd have to talk with him about the things I'd learned, but he'd eventually understand, as I did.

"It's okay to be happy now," I whispered.

Al caught us up in a three-way hug.

When we parted, Alice said her goodbyes to her grandmother. Then I lifted her into the RV and instructed her to find a safe place to put the daisies, while Al said goodbye to Abigail.

That left me. We smiled at each other one last time, Abigail and I. "Take care of yourself, Abigail." I brushed my lips against hers for a brief moment.

"You too, Sam."

Sammy Jo had been born of her and I. We shared a child and grandchild together. It bonded us together, for all time.

But we could leave it at that.

 

end Ruins 2

 


	5. Postscript

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another plot twist, because I couldn't resist...

The pain was worse than any she'd ever had, even when her appendix had ruptured when she was ten, and grandfather had saved her life by keeping things from worsening until the ambulance could arrive. She supposed she could get philosophical about it, it was for a good cause... but she wasn't feeling like being particularly philosophical at the moment.

It was unavoidable, though. Even in 2035, they hadn't come up with a way to make childbirth totally painless.

Of course, in moments like this one, she knew it was because of a male conspiracy. To make matters worse, she had a male nurse, holding her hand and wiping her face with a cool cloth. She wished he could trade places with her, then giggled, remembering a story about grandfather having the dubious honor, once. It made her feel marginally better--but then, thinking of her family always did bring a sense of warmth.

The nurse was stealing glances at her, but she ignored him. Instead, she chose to let them help her through this one, by retreating to a safe, happy place in her mind...

 

_They were having a picnic by the Golden Gate bridge, a year after they'd moved to San Francisco. It was a sunny day, and there was a perfect wind blowing. Gramps--she's never called him grampa, he seemed too young...besides, he was far more than just her grandfather. He was also her step-father, so to speak. But she and Dad used to love teasing him by calling him gramps. The affectionate term stuck, much to Sam's continued chagrin... Anyway, he was teaching her to fly a kite, a beautiful yellow and orange butterfly, with big black eyes. Dad was watching and taking photos..._

 

"Oh boy!" she cried, jarred from her daydream by a particularly nasty contraction.

"It's coming any minute," the doctor informed her.

"No shit!" she growled.

"C'mon, don't fall asleep on us. Push!"

She settled for glaring at the doctor rather than saying what was on her tongue, only because more pressing matters were occupying her at the moment.

"One more, come on..."

She did as told, and a second later, heard the wonderful sound of a baby's cry. Tears of happiness and relief stung her eyes.

"It's a girl!" the doctor crowed, placing the tiny infant in her arms.

"She's beautiful," the proud new mother breathed in awe. She wished Dad and gramps could have been there for this moment, but that wasn't possible.

"What are you going to name her, Alice?" the doctor asked.

"Her name is...Alia."

 

the end...

?

 

2/28/94

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I didn't like the whole "Evil Leaper" stuff, either.  
> PS: I left Sam and/or Al's situation in this part open-ended on purpose (also it was never specified what year Sam leaped home). It's 2035, so... but you never know, maybe they're just busy. Medical science might be working wonders by then...


End file.
